


Swimming Lessons

by Madame (McKay)



Series: The Monkees Soap Opera [9]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/Madame
Summary: Micky follows up on his promise to teach Mags how to swim, but he ends up learning a few things himself...





	Swimming Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1998.

The sun beat down with unseasonable warmth as Micky pelted down the beachside steps, his surfboard in his arms and a towel draped around his neck; he'd been waiting for a day such as this, antsy to ride some waves, and now he planned to take full advantage of it. He'd wheedled Mike into postponing practice until after dark, leaving his entire afternoon free to spend outside, and he planned to stay in the water until he looked like a human prune.

And it appeared he wasn't the only one enjoying the warm spell, he thought as he trotted along the sand. There were some neighborhood kids building sandcastles near the shore, a couple of guys playing frisbee further down the beach, and a lone female sunbather sprawled on her stomach on a beach towel.

A lone female sun bather with a _very_ familiar shock of curly red hair.

Despite the fact that she had it pinned in a loose, messy knot on top of her head, there was no mistaking that flame-colored mass anywhere, and Micky felt his stomach plunge to his feet when he realized he'd have to pass by Magdalene Bennett on his way to the ocean.

Guilt over the way he'd treated her at the Vincent Van streaked through him, as fresh and painful as if it'd happened only yesterday instead of weeks ago. Since then, she'd kept her distance from him--not from the _others_ but from _him_. The fact that she'd been accepted into their group without question or hesitation didn't help matters; suddenly wherever they played, he spotted her dancing with Izzy in the crowd, she joined Izzy in curling up on the couch and listening to their rehearsals, she dropped by unannounced whenever Izzy did, and she was there whenever Izzy had them all over for dinner. He couldn't avoid her, yet somehow, she managed to avoid _him_ , talking and laughing freely with Mike, Peter, Davy and Izzy, but managing to exclude him without ever saying an unkind word. 

And, he conceded with a rueful sigh, he deserved it. He'd snubbed her, so she was simply following the example he'd set and returning the snub--in spades. He'd meant to apologize, but every time he got near her, she turned those icy green eyes on him, and the words died in his throat. Especially since there was usually an audience around. He'd wanted to make amends privately, but the chance never arose, and he'd neglected to make it happen on his own.

But now it seemed Fate was dropping the perfect opportunity in his lap.

Mags was alone with no sign of Izzy in sight, and given Mike's sudden disappearance after agreeing to put off rehearsal, Micky had a feeling he knew why. So those two wouldn't be interrupting, it was Peter's turn to go grocery shopping, and Davy had gone to an amusement park with his latest flame. At last he could have a moment to talk to Mags alone.

Dropping his surfboard, he approached her slowly, making as much noise as possible to alert her to his presence; she pushed her sunglasses down her nose and peered over the top of them, her eyes as distant as ever, but she didn't speak, even when he squatted on his heels next to her.

"Hey, Mags," he began cheerfully, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he felt. "What's up?"

"What do you want?" she asked, her tone clipped and curt, pushing her glasses back up again and resting her chin on her folded arms, staring straight ahead as if she were acknowledging his existence grudgingly at best.

He sighed, then sat down indian-style, tracing random patterns in the sand with his fingertips as he tried to decide on the best approach. Perhaps he ought to match her bluntness for bluntness.

"To apologize," he said at last. "I was rude to you at the Vincent, and I'm sorry. I should've been more careful about what I said."

For a long moment, she remained silent, and he was afraid she was going to brush him and his apology off--but then, unexpectedly she glanced up at him and smiled.

"For you to keep hold over your own mouth would take nothing less than a miracle," she replied.

"Hey!" He frowned a little, wondering if he should be pleased or insulted.

"Apology accepted," she continued quickly, sitting up and mirroring his cross-legged position as she held out her hand.

He shook her offered hand solemnly, awash with relief that she'd forgiven him so easily.

"You really did look nice, though," he added, hoping the compliment would help smooth things over even more.

"But still too prim," she said, tossing him an arch look, and he felt heat sting his cheeks.

"I didn't mean it like that," he floundered, trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't make him look even worse and failing miserably. "Look, I want to make it up to you," he said all in a rush, not even knowing why he said it or what he could do.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "How?"

"Swimming lessons!" he blurted, throwing out the first thing that popped in his head.

" _Swimming_ lessons?"

"Yeah!" He seized on that idea eagerly. "Remember? I promised I'd teach you! Well--so--now I'm offering. If you want to learn, that is."

An eternity seemed to pass as she appeared to consider the idea, the play of emotion across her features letting him know that something about it was causing her inner conflict, but he had no idea what it could be. Was she still angry with him? Had he alienated her so much that she didn't want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary around him?

Finally, she spoke, gazing at him with an expression that could only be called shy as she replied, "Sure. I'd like that. When do you want to start?"

Micky jumped to his feet, grinning down at her as he extended his hand to help her up.

"No time like the present!" he replied.

"Didn't you want--I mean--I thought you were going to surf--" She gestured to his now-forgotten surfboard, and he shrugged negligently. 

"It can wait."

Slowly, she nodded, then slipped her fingers into his palm, letting him pull her upright; impulsively--and where _that_ notion came from he had _no_ idea!--he laced his fingers through hers as he led her to the shoreline, sneaking covert peeks at her slender figure in the sleek navy one-piece bathing suit she wore. 

Magdalene Bennett might be a Miss Prim, but she was remarkably easy on the eyes these days, he thought. Maybe these lessons wouldn't be so awful to get through after all...

~*~*~ 

Once they reached the edge of the shore, Mags abruptly froze as the chilly water lapped at her toes, and then she danced backwards, all but dragging Micky with her.

"It's too _cold_!" she shrieked. "I'm not going in _there_!"

Laughing, Micky yanked her hand, hauling her forward with him until they were both shin-deep in the water, the incoming waves reaching their knees. "It's not so bad once you get used to it. Just go ahead and get wet all at once, and you'll forget how cold it is. Trust me," he assured her, earning a dubious look in response.

She tugged her fingers free of his hand and scuttled a few steps away. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

He raised his eyebrows, his smile turning mischievous as he watched her backing out of reach. "You're gonna leave me no choice..." he warned playfully, wagging an admonishing finger at her. 

"What--?"

Without warning, he lunged at her; she shrieked again and took off running, but he was too quick. Catching her around the waist, he captured her easily, swept her up into his arms and dashed out into the waves; once he was sure they were deep enough that she would neither get hurt nor risk drowning, he let out a whoop--and tossed her into the water.

Her outraged cry was abruptly cut off when she went under, and when she broke the surface again, sputtering indignantly, he burst out laughing, feeling not so much as an ounce of remorse as he watched from the safety of the shoreline where he'd retreated in case she decided to launch a counter-attack. Shoving her hair out of her eyes, Mags glared daggers at him as she slogged out of the water, which only set him off even more.

"You!" she exclaimed, bracing her fists on her hips once she was in the shallows again. "How could you? I don't know how to swim--remember? That's why we're here!"

"Oh, cool it, babe," he giggled, practically doubled over as he took in her self-righteous anger. "I was right here, the water's not that deep--and I'll bet you've forgotten all about how cold it is!" 

She sucked in a deep breath, obviously preparing to launch into another tirade--and then she abruptly stopped, a light of mirth flickering in her eyes, and suddenly she too began to laugh.

"You're right," she admitted. "The cold is the _last_ thing on my mind right now."

Suddenly she bent over, reaching for the water with her hands cupped--and then she stopped just as abruptly as she'd begun and straightened again, glancing furtively at him as if she hoped he hadn't noticed her movements. As if she were afraid of something. But why would she be afraid? He was never _that_ rude to her!

"You were gonna splash me, weren't you?" he asked slowly, and she jumped as if startled, a fleeting look of guilt crossing her face as she struggled to maintain her usual impassive mask. "Why didn't you?" 

"I..." She broke off, lowering her eyes and turning away from him slightly, but he quickly moved to stand in front of her, making it impossible for her to avoid him in any way. "I...Yes, I was..." she admitted in a low voice.

"So why didn't you do it?" he repeated insistantly. This was a mystery he wanted to solve--now. If _his_ actions were the cause of her nervousness, he wanted to do something to fix it.

"Because..." Her voice was a hollow whisper, barely audible over the roar of the waves and the squawking of the gulls wheeling overhead. "Because I didn't want to make you mad."

" _Mad_?" he echoed.

Oh, man--had _he_ done this?

But something deep down told him the answer to _that_ question was no. This reaction wasn't the result of his rudeness to her; this was an old wound, something inflicted on her a long time ago and reopened on a regular basis ever since.

"Why would I get mad?" he replied, keeping his tone light and cheerful. "I just threw you in over your head, didn't I? I'd say that called for a little revenge."

Still she refused to look up at him, standing there looking forlorn as she twisted her hands together fretfully, and Micky had the sudden, unaccountable, nearly over-whelming urge to take her in his arms and assure her everything was okay, that he wasn't mad and that she could splash him anytime she felt like it.

But he didn't. That would've been way too freaky, and he didn't feel right in the role of comforter anyway. That was Peter's job, not his, and he wouldn't even know where to begin or what to say! Instead, he took refuge in his usual safe zone: teasing.

Backing away, he crouched down, waving both hands in a "come and get me" gesture. "Come on, Mags," he taunted. "You know you want to!" 

Mags darted a bewildered look at him, watching his antics with growing confusion, but she didn't move, and he escalated his tactics, circling her and kicking water at her as he went.

"Micky, stop it--" She was glaring at him now, and he grinned cheekily back, hoping he'd manage to goad her into action.

Bending down, he scooped up a double handful of salty ocean water--and lobbed it straight in her face.

Judging from her outraged shriek, he figured he'd finally broken through her fear, but he didn't realize he'd inadvertantly unleashed the full force of a lurking redhead temper. Laughing, he whirled and began to run before she could retaliate. With a wordless cry of fury, she took after him, spitting salt water and invectives--she'd obviously been hanging around Mike and Isabel too long--as she sprinted behind him. Finally, she launched herself at him, grabbing him around the waist and sending them both tumbling into the sand; he enjoyed the resulting wrestling match much much more than he would've suspected--especially when he found himself the winner with Mags beneath him, unable to wriggle free as he held her wrists pinned to the sand.

Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes were sparkling, and even though the ferocious look she was giving him was enough to wither the flesh from his bones, he realized it was having another effect on him entirely. She was breathing hard from exertion, her lips slightly parted; his brain shut down, pure instinct taking over, and all he knew at that moment was that he couldn't remember ever seeing anything so enticing in his life. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he lowered his head, moving in as if he were going to kiss her.

Whoa--this was getting way too weird...

The sooner he got some distance between himself and her, the better! he thought as he jerked his head up again. Sheesh...It was almost like he was attracted to her or something, but that was ridiculous. The very thought almost made him laugh aloud, but he kept quiet, not wanting to be put in the postion of having to explain what was so funny.

Instead, he scrambled to his feet and backed away from her, but she didn't move immediately, remaining there watching him with a somewhat shell-shocked expression as if she couldn't believe what had just happened; slowly she got up, her entire face and neck turning bright red, but she said nothing, and he decided to pretend it hadn't happened in the first place. He made a feeble attempt to brush off the sand clinging to his wet skin, then he headed back out into the water, gesturing for her to follow him. When they got a little past the breakers where the water was about waist-deep for her, he stopped and turned to face her.

"The first thing you have to learn is the dead man's float," he announced, deciding to start with the very basics and work up from there. Since she didn't know anything about swimming at all, she needed all the background she could get.

"I know you don't like me very much, but isn't that going a little far?" If it weren't for the gleam in her eyes, he would've thought she was completely serious; as it was, he started, giving her a wide-eyed look of wonder.

"Who said I don't like you?" he demanded.

"Your own actions," she replied with a little shrug. "And words." 

"And what about _you_?" he countered, bracing his hands on his hips. Okay, yeah, he'd messed up. But did he have to be _reminded_ of it every day for the rest of his life? "You've been acting like I'm suddenly the Invisible Man."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

Micky stared at her, agape. _Oh, man...How could two people misread each other so much_? he wondered. His mouth and her insecurity sure didn't make for a good combination.

"No," he replied gently. "That's not what I wanted." He paused, trying to figure out how he could smooth things out between them for good; as long as she was Izzy's room-mate, they needed to get along, and that meant working out some kind of understanding. "What I want is for you to let me make up for what I said so we can try to be friends."

"Friends?" she echoed softly, fixing him with an intense emerald green gaze.

"Yeah. Friends. I think we can manage that, don't you?" He gave her his best charming smile, and wonder of wonders, it seemed to work.

"I think so." Her answering smile was small but genuine, and he gave a quiet sigh of relief.

The rest of the lesson was uneventful; Mags proved to be an attentive student, and if she was afraid of anything, she didn't show it. She simply followed his instructions without question, and in less than half an hour, she was floating around on her own without his hands to support or guide her.

It was then he noticed her nose and cheeks were beginning to turn bright pink from the sun, and he ordered her inside; she agreed, but only after exacting a promise that he'd continue her lessons the next day. Micky surprised himself by his willingness to agree, and it was settled that they'd meet the next morning before the sun got too hot so she wouldn't risk getting burned.

Then she was gone, leaving Micky alone to surf at last; he fetched his surfboard and tried to ignore the persistant feeling that the beach had suddenly gotten very lonely and quiet indeed.

~*~*~ 

The sea breeze was still cool even though the mid-morning sun was shining down brightly as Micky lounged in the wet sand near the shore; he let the in-coming waves wash over him, soaking him to the waist and splashing his chest. He'd been waiting for Mags, who hadn't arrived yet, and he found himself just sitting and staring out at the ocean, letting it lull him into a contemplative state. He wasn't much for sitting still--being around either Mike or Isabel in one of their quiet moods gave him the heebie-jeebies--but sometimes, he admitted grudgingly, it could be very relaxing.

He let his mind wander, thinking mostly about his cousin Eddie. It would soon be a year since Eddie's death, and he still mourned the loss; he felt as if a brother had been killed, not merely a cousin. _I don't have anyone else like him in my life_ , Micky thought suddenly, the realization striking him like a thunderbolt. Yeah, Mike, Peter and Davy were really good friends, and he cared for them a lot, but he didn't feel as strongly for them as he did for Eddie. 

Part of it was simply that he and Eddie had grown up together, lived within spitting distance of each other and spent nearly every day of their lives together until Micky had moved here. Part of it was that he didn't feel particularly attached to any of his room-mates in that way... 

Well, not anymore. 

They were the nearest thing he was likely to have to brothers now. When they first moved in together, he had adopted Peter as a younger brother--as had Mike and Davy--and grown to think of Davy as a good buddy, but if any of them had made him feel the sort of bond he'd felt with Eddie, it had been Mike. In the early days, they'd spent a lot of time together, but he realized he'd pushed Mike away since Eddie's death. He'd pushed _everyone_ away... 

"Hey there! I'm ready for my lesson!"

That surprisingly cheerful summons snapped Micky out of his reverie, and he peered over his shoulder, watching as Mags hurried over to him, a broad smile wreathing her lips.

"Well, someone's in a good mood today!" he teased, returning her smile with one of his own. "What's got you so up?"

"I've finally got a job interview!" she exclaimed happily as she dropped down to sit beside him. "It's tomorrow afternoon at two. If I get it, I'll be a live-in nanny for a three-year-old. I'll work Monday through Friday, then I'll have the weekends off."

"Sounds great!"

"It will be if I get it," she replied, her tone earnest and intense. "I can't keep mooching off of Isabel forever, and my savings won't last even though she's not letting me pay rent yet. I need this job." She paused, scowled a little, then added, "Plus I'm bored sitting around all day with nothing to do. I've been trying for weeks to land a job, but nothing. Now this!"

Her green eyes lit up with excitement, and he could almost feel the anticipation radiating from her; he watched her, growing more amused with every passing second. He didn't think he'd ever seen her this lively before, and the change it made in her was incredible. For the first time, he saw her face animated, full of life--and oddly appealling.

"It'll be nice working with a child again, too," she continued, drawing her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. "I've missed that."

He remained quiet for a moment, wondering how she'd react to him asking a question or two, then he gave a little shrug and plunged in. If she didn't like it, she didn't have to answer!

"So if you like kids so much, what were you doing working for Izzy's grandmother?"

"It was the only job I could find," she replied, leaning her cheek on her knees so she could look at him while they talked. "Not my first choice, but when you need money, you take what you can get." 

"I'm hip!" Micky laughed, recalling some of the awful dives they'd played just to be able to cover the rent, and Mags's smile widened. 

"My first job was as a nanny, but then the parents decided to send her to boarding school, so they didn't need me anymore," she explained. "Then I started working for Mrs. Evans, and that lasted a little over a year."

"Why'd you leave?" he asked, curiosity spurring him to press. "And how come you're here with Izzy now? Did you guys get to be really good friends or something?"

"No." She shook her head; a few loose tendrils of hair tumbled around her neck with the movement, and he had a sudden urge to capture one and wrap it around his finger. "She moved here about three months after I arrived, and she was busy with school the whole time. We didn't really get to know each other." She fell silent, turning her gaze towards the sea, and he began to wonder if she was going to answer his other questions. Then just as suddenly, she began to speak again in a much softer voice. "I quit because Mrs. Evans is a high-handed control freak, and I got tired of putting up with her tyrranical ways. I may be a servant, but I'm not a slave." She darted a guilty glance at Micky. "But don't tell Izzy I said that, okay?" 

"I think she already knows," he said wryly. Considering what she and Mike had just been through, he seriously doubted she'd be too upset at hearing a little criticism of her grandmother.

Mags actually grinned at him then, a fleeting look of glee crossing her face, and he wondered what that was about as she replied, "You're probably right," in a smugly knowing tone.

"So why _did_ you come to Izzy?" he asked again. It occurred to him that she hadn't answered his question, and he was now more curious than ever.

There was another prolonged silence, punctuated only by crashing waves and screaming gulls, and when Mags spoke again, Micky could barely hear her voice over the sound of the sea.

"Because I didn't have anywhere else to go."

He stared at her, shocked by the admission. Nowhere else? What about her friends--? And then he realized the inherent absurdity of that idea; Mags wasn't the type to make friends easily, and he doubted her solemn, quiet demeanor had won her a lot--if any--close companions.

"But--what about your family?" he asked, bewildered. This was such a foreign concept to the young drummer that he could barely wrap his mind around it; he'd always had friends and acquaintances surrounding him all his life, and even if he couldn't turn to them, there was always his mom and sisters.

She snorted derisively, rolling her eyes heavenward. "My family...is a joke," she said, her tone flat and lifeless.

"Oh..." He squirmed awkwardly, embarrassed at having accidentally stumbled onto what was obviously a sore spot for her. "Well--" he stammered, trying to latch onto another, harmless topic. "So you like kids, huh? You been around them much?"

She snorted again, but this time it was in amusement. "I'm the fourth child of eight, and I practically raised my four younger sisters and brothers."

"So you've had a little experience," he replied, proud of himself for keeping such a straight face as he did.

"A little, yeah," she said with a chuckle. "I like kids...I'd like some of my own some day--but not _that_ many!"

"No, definitely not!" he agreed with a mock-shudder.

Eight! That wasn't a family, that was a small regiment...

Mags shot him an amused look and unfolded her long legs as if she were about to stand up. "Are we going in the water anytime soon, or are we just going to sit on the edge all day?"

Laughing, he scrambled to his feet and extended his hand to help her up. "Sorry--we're supposed to be having a lesson, aren't we?" 

"That _was_ the point," she said blandly. "Do I get to move today, or am I just going to float around some more?"

"Dog paddling," Micky replied firmly. "Dog paddling and treading water. That's the next step."

Treading water came easily enough to her, but her first attempts at dog paddling were awkward, and he giggled as he watched her flail around in the water, earning baleful looks and extra-hard splashing aimed directly at him. She continued practicing even after he declared himself pleased with her progress, and rather than leaving her to thrash around on her own so he could go surf, he lingered, playing in the waves while she swam. It took every ounce of will power he possessed not to try to dunk her, but he knew she wasn't ready for that yet; maybe when she got a little more skill and practice behind her, but not yet.

Eventually she stopped, admitting she was tired, and headed for shore.

"So what about tomorrow?" he asked, wading out behind her. "Same time tomorrow morning?"

"I can't." She stopped and turned to face him, her features etched with regret. "Sorry, but I need to spend the morning preparing for my interview."

"Oh..."

Well, it would leave him the entire day to swim and surf without having to give up any time to lessons. So why did he feel such a keen sense of disappointment...?

"The day after, okay?" she offered. "At least it'll give you a day off from me," she added, smiling to take the sting from her words. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt, "But I don't _want_ a day off from you," and he barely managed to bite the words back, mystified that he would even have the thought in the first place, much less be tempted to speak it aloud. What was getting into him, anyway?

"Sure," he answered breezily, trying to sound as if it were no big deal to him one way or another. "We'll see if you're up to the breast stroke."

Mags lowered her gaze to the sand for a moment, then glanced sidelong at him shyly, biting her lip. "I'm looking forward to it," she said softly.

Micky's indifferent facade melted under the influence of that bashful look. "Yeah, me too."

The warm smile he got in return made a little glow form in his chest that lingered long after she'd already disappeared inside Izzy's house, long after he'd worn himself out riding the waves and returned to the Pad, already anticipating the next lesson.

~*~*~ 

"Well, how'd it go?" Micky demanded as soon as Mags appeared at the top of the steps leading down from Izzy's house to the beach. 

She froze, visibly startled for a moment, then a shy, delighted smile bloomed on her lips as she continued down the stairs. "You're here awfully early, aren't you?" she asked, momentarily ignoring his question as they headed for the ocean.

Without thinking about it, they fell into a matching rhythm as they walked, matching each other's pace easily, but Micky waited until they were both chest-deep in the water to follow up on the conversation.

With a sheepish grin, he ran his wet hands through his touseled curls. "It's Mrs. Weefers' day to clean," he explained. "I wanted to escape."

"The dust?"

"The fumes," he corrected as he mimed knocking back a drink, and she clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. "So--what happened?" he repeated, anxious to hear the details from her interview. "I tried to call you last night and find out how it went, but Izzy said you weren't home."

"No, I went to visit my sister," she said, and when he glanced at her, he noticed she'd lifted her feet from the ocean floor and was practicing a slow-motion version of treading water. "I didn't get back til late."

"What about the interview?" he persisted, flicking a tiny rill of water at her.

"I don't want to jinx it!" she protested, sending a larger splash of water back at him. "I think it went okay, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, okay." He held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "So what about your sister? Did you have a nice visit?"

"Very nice," she replied non-committally, and he sensed he was approaching a sensitive topic again.

But this time, he didn't back off. "So are you two close?" he asked, trying to make his tone as casual as possible. He had no idea what was prompting him to delve into her personal life; after all, what was it to him? But curiosity spurred him on, leading him to ask even if she refused to answer.

"Yes," she replied hesitantly. "Closer than any of my other brothers and sisters." Then all of a sudden, she turned an intense, probing gaze on him. "What about you? Are you close to your family?" 

He blinked, startled at the abrupt shift in conversation, but he found himself nodding nonetheless. "Yeah, I'd say so," he said. "Me'n my sister Coco are pretty tight. I don't get to see them as much as I want, though." He shrugged ruefully. "Kinda hard to go home on a regular basis when we all have to share a car. Our budget doesn't run to that much gas money, plus there's usually a conflict."

"Y'know, I was wondering about that." Mags stopped treading water and put her feet on the ocean floor, fixing him with a brightly curious look. "How in the world did four unemployed musicians get their hands on a car like that?"

Micky laughed, then turned one of his sunniest grins on her. "Well, there's a story there..."

"I figured as much." She folded her arms across her chest and smiled back. "So spill."

"Well..." He swam back and forth a few feet away from her a couple of times, trying to collect his thoughts so he wouldn't leave anything out of the tale. "When we first moved in together, I was the only one with a car--an old Woody."

"Oh, you mean a boat on wheels," she said, wrinkling her nose playfully.

"Exactly!" He nodded, splashing more water at her just on principle. "Mike had a motorcycle--"

" _Mike_?" Her eyes grew wide and round as she gaped at him, obviously surprised by the revelation.

"Mike," he affirmed with an impish grin. "Our glorious leader was a bit of a bad boy in those days."

"Oh, you're joking!" she scoffed, but he shook his head, his expression earnest.

"No, I'm dead serious! Mike was real different then." He paused, remembering the early days and all the adjustments they'd had to make to each other and all the changes they'd gone through since that time. "He wasn't as--settled as he is now. He loved that motorcycle, too. He used to go riding around all the time, especially when he needed to get away from the rest of us. Peter would never ride with him because he was kind of scared. Davy went once."

Micky's features lit up with amusement as he recalled the events as if they'd happened only yesterday. "Mike was going to run some errands, and Davy asked to go with him. About an hour later, Mike came strolling in the pad--without Davy. When we asked where Davy was, he just jerked his thumb over his shoulder and said--" Micky scrunched his face into a credible imitation of one of Mike's typical scowls and lowered his voice slightly, adding an exaggerated Texas accent, "--'Out there'." Resuming his normal tone, he continued, "And sure enough--five minutes later, Davy came staggering in, pale as a ghost. He never told us what happened. All he'd say was--" And here he widened his eyes, shifting to a higher-pitched British accented voice, "--'That bugger's got a bleedin' death wish'!"

Mags burst out laughing, and Micky smiled to himself, pleased at her reaction to his story-telling.

"But I loved it," he added, his tone wistful. "I could usually tell when he wanted privacy and when he was just going riding around for the fun of it. I'd always ask to go, and he always let me."

Memories flooded his mind, making him smile as he recalled the reckless abandon Mike had displayed as they zoomed around town and country. He could still feel the sting of the wind on his cheeks, the hum of the motor, the thrilling surge of excitement and fear everytime Mike pulled another unexpected stunt; he could remember yelling at the top of his lungs as Mike jumped a wide ditch or dodged cars at break-neck speed and clutching Mike's waist as adrenalin sang in his veins. He'd sometimes worried about getting home alive himself, but the rush had been worth it.

"We went everywhere...He did crazy stuff at first--popped wheelies, made dangerous jumps. That kind of thing," he added, his eyes unfocused and distant as if he were lost in the past. "But he calmed down after a while. He still drives pretty fast, though."

"I know!" Mags nodded vehemently.

Micky frowned, puzzled at first until he remembered the time she'd gone with Mike to Harker's Ferry to visit Isabel's grandmother, and then he laughed. "Yeah, once a speed demon, always a speed demon. He and Izzy just about broke up over his driving when we went on that road trip together last year."

"So how'd you get the GTO?" she asked, and he suddenly remembered what his point in bringing all that up in the first place had been. 

"Oh! Well, the Woody died, which meant we couldn't get to our gigs because Peter and Davy couldn't afford a car, and besides that, Davy hadn't gotten the hang of driving on the right side of the road yet. So I sold it for parts and scrap, Mike sold his motorcyle, and Peter and Davy chipped in what they could. One of the guys down the street had just gotten married, and his new wife hated his GTO--she wanted him to buy something smaller--but he'd had a for sale sign on it for weeks with no luck, so..."

"So you cut a deal," she finished for him.

"Yep." He spread his hands and gave a little bow. "And the rest is history."

"And what a history," she chuckled softly, drifting backwards a short distance and then paddling back closer to him again. "Y'know, I used to envy you guys so much."

"Really?" He cocked his head, a rush of compassion washing over him as he regarded her somberly. It was so painfully obvious her self-esteem was much lower than it ought to be, and he wished there was something he could do to help boost her ego. "Why?"

"You're so close," she whispered, lowering her gaze, her lashes forming a delicate fan against her cheek as she avoided his scrutiny. "All of you. I've never had any friends like that before."

"Yeah..." Micky stared at his hands, wringing his fingers together, feeling heat rushing into his face. "I guess...I dunno. I--" He broke off suddently, amazed at realizing what he was on the verge of admitting. To _her_ of all people!

"You what?" She glanced up, and when he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet hers, he felt a hard knot of tension in his chest dissolving as the words began to flow unbidden; he couldn't have stopped himself even if he'd wanted to.

But it was a shock to his own heart to realize he didn't.

"I don't feel as close to them as I used to," he blurted. "I can't. It started off great, and I thought I'd found three really great friends, y'know? Lifetime friends. And then Eddie died."

"Who's Eddie?" she asked gently.

She moved through the water to stand directly in front of him, but she didn't touch him, and he didn't reach out to her either, simply drawing strength from her presence.

"My cousin," he replied, his tone bleak, the agony of loss etched in his features. "But we were like brothers. He was killed in Viet Nam almost a year ago, and it still hurts like it was yesterday. I miss him so much." Tears stung his eyes, and he swiped at them with the back of his hand. "Ever since then, I've tried not to get too close to the guys. I know they could probably be like brothers to me too, but--but I'm scared. I mean, what if something happened to one of them too? I don't know if I could take it..."

"So you're keeping your distance," she said quietly, watching him closely but still not reaching out even to comfort him.

"Yeah." He nodded miserably, a ribbon of despair coiling in his stomach. Maybe admitting all this to Mags--a near stranger--hadn't been a good idea... "It's safer that way, I guess."

"Coward."

He snapped his head up, staring at her in undiluted shock. "What--?" he gasped, stunned that she had actually said that to him. 

"You're a coward," she repeated, her green eyes blazing as she rounded on him. "Ever since I've been here, I've heard all of you picking on Mike because he keeps his feelings to himself, but you're worse! _Far_ worse! If you pay any attention to _him_ at all, anyone can see exactly how he feels about you guys. But _you_! You hide behind your jokes and your funny faces and your goofball antics, and it's nothing but an empty mask. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

His amazement doubled when he saw tears shimmering on her lashes; the first fell, followed quickly by another, and before he could stop himself, he reached out and brushed them away gently with his thumb. Her chest heaved as she began to sob quietly, turning her back to him as she hid her face in her hands. He stood motionless for a moment, unsure of what to do. But for the first time in ages, he allowed his heart to dictate his head, and he pulled her close, cradling her against his bare chest in a comforting embrace.

Her body remained tense and rigid for a moment, but gradually she relaxed against him, even growing brave enough to slip her arms around his waist. He stroked her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder, and he was amazed at how right she felt in his arms, how well they fit together.

"I know you miss your cousin," she said softly, squeezing him tight for an instant. "And I'm sorry. But you ought to be grateful for the chance you've got with your friends. I would have given my soul to have friends like that, to be that close to someone. I never had it before I met you all, and--"

She fell silent then, and he grasped her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up so she had to look at him. "And what?" he asked, just as softly. "Why didn't you ever have anybody?"

A huge, shuddery sigh wracked her frame as she began to speak once more. "Like I told you, I'm the fourth child of eight." Her voice was hollow and empty, and he felt his heart wrenching in his chest at the obvious pain the words caused her. "My father is a drunk, and my mother had too many children and too little time. When I was young, all I wanted was for her to love me. I wanted her to hold me. But the only time she noticed me was when I did something wrong. I tried to get her attention--I sang and danced and tried to get her to play with me--but my father whipped me for being too loud, and Mother just pushed me away and said she didn't have the time for nonsense. I learned all they wanted me to do was shut up and stay out of the way. So I did. That's what I've been doing ever since."

Micky tried to speak, but nothing came out. What could he possibly say to give her any comfort? Instead, he held her tighter, resting his cheek against the top of her head, trying to relay his support through his touch rather than words.

"I've always wanted friends like you guys," she continued. "Someone to accept me just as I am, someone to love me--"

"We're your friends now!" he said at last, grasping her shoulders firmly and pushing her just enough away so that he could look her in the eyes. "We're your family now too, if that's what you want."

"I want that--I want that so much--"

A moment of fragile rapport spun out between them, and Micky caught his breath as he gazed into her eyes, feeling as if he were drowning in those dark emerald depths; in that instant, the rest of the world disappeared, and he could see only her, could feel nothing but her warmth, her wet-slick skin beneath his palms. Why had he never seen how pretty she was? How had he ever thought she was plain, that her face lacked life and animation? All he could think now was that she was truly one of the loveliest girls he'd ever seen, and all he wanted to do was protect her and take care of her, to help her forget her awful past and build a future where she could be herself without feeling she had to hide--

That was it, wasn't it? he thought with a sudden flash of insight. That was why she'd gotten so mad at him for hiding behind masks. She'd had to do it for years, and she knew how painful and empty it could be. She knew...she understood...

Feeling like a man caught in a dream, he reached out and cupped her cheeks in his hands, bending his head slightly so that he could touch his lips to hers; she went tense, clutching his shoulders in a surprisingly tight grip, but she didn't push him away, giving him the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss. It was obvious she had never kissed anyone before; she kept her lips closed and slightly rigid, but he wordlessly guided her, helping her relax. After a moment, she began to respond, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing close against him as she gave herself over--heart and soul--to their embrace.

Time shimmered and dissolved while Micky lost himself in her arms; for the first time since Eddie's death, he felt free--free to destroy the masks he wore, to unleash his heart to his friends, to love... 

Love?!

No!

Not that--it wasn't safe--and with _her_ of all people? Shy little Miss Prim? No! It was laughable, and he couldn't be guilty of leading her on when she was simply trying to help.

As gently as possible, he clasped her arms and pushed her away, his expression clouded with regret. "I'm sorry," he said as kindly as he could. "I was out of line. That never should have happened, and I'm _really_ sorry."

"Sorry...?" she echoed faintly, staring at him with wide, shell-shocked eyes. "You're sorry...?"

"Yeah." He nodded, trying to muster every bit of compassion he possessed. "I am. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't mean--"

"No!" She wrenched herself free of his grasp, her eyes blazing. "Don't say it. I don't need to hear it. Apology accepted, okay? Just drop it." Drawing herself up to her full height, she wrapped her dignity around her like a shield as she backed away from him, heading towards the shore.

"What about tomorrow?" he asked, a sickening lump in the pit of his stomach warning him what her answer probably would be.

"What about it?" Her expression was completely closed to him, and he squelched a shiver, feeling as if he'd just made another colossal mistake with her.

"About...about your next lesson," he explained, his voice sounding weak and lame even in his own ears.

"I don't want any more lessons," she replied coldly. "There's nothing else I need to learn from you."

And with that, she turned her back to him and hurried to shore as quickly as she could, leaving him standing there.

Alone once more.


End file.
